Akashatsu
by Ultimate Fanfiction Princess
Summary: Ranma loses his signature long-sleeved red shirt one day. You, being an innately curious human being, pick it up. Your entire life changes the moment you pick up that shirt. (Reader x Ranma's red shirt) Well, don't knock it til you try it. You might just be surprised.
1. Rescue

I really do not own Ranma. Rumiko Takahashi does, and man is she lucky.

* * *

You walked down a quiet street in Nerima, feeling as useless and unimportant as usual. Your crazy, violent, martial artist friends were probably off fighting and doing more worthwhile things with their lives than you as you walked towards the Tendo Dojo.

Life was incredibly _boring_ for you, as of late. You had nothing to do with yourself, so you resorted to talking long walks towards your friends' houses for entertainment. Both of your parents worked, and school was temporarily out for a short break.

You sighed deeply. It was only Sunday and you had fallen into this routine: get up, eat breakfast, do nothing until lunch, eat lunch, do nothing until dinner, eat dinner, and sleep until the day started anew and you repeated it all. This wasn't you, you knew. You weren't all gloom and doom like Ryoga often was. You were a fascinating, energized, excited, optimistic person…. who fell into a terrible, mind-numbingly boring, uninteresting rut.

You were considering what to do with yourself when a brightly colored something on the road caught your eye.

It was a red shirt. It sat there, and you could tell it was abandoned, alone, and lost.

You picked it up gingerly, examining the cloth interestedly.

It was your friend Ranma's shirt! You were slightly suspicious of how it was just… there. You felt like he had intentionally dropped this beautiful shirt.

For some reason, this assumption, this wild conclusion you had leapt to enraged you beyond anything else. _Who_, you asked yourself furiously, would leave such a great shirt just lying on the road?!

It must have been agonizing, you thought. Sitting there, left to rot unattended. Unloved by cruel, unthinking Ranma. You felt almost moved to tears. You clutched the shirt to your chest.

Somehow, it felt like the shirt moved towards you as well, cooling you in its silky grasp.

For several moments you just stood there, feeling this insane attraction to the shirt, wishing it had been loved as you so thought it deserved. In the peaceful street, you felt as though time had completely stopped, and it only consisted of you and the shirt.

You walked home, the shirt nestled safely in your arms. You opened the door cautiously, then ran up the stairs to your room. You felt an insane urge to wear the gorgeous red shirt, with its shiny, alluring gold clasps, the fashionably rolled up sleeves….

You felt your cell phone vibrate. Your forgetful father had accidentally left the letter he was going to mail at home… And he didn't want to walk back from the post office. You prepared to leave, but then your mother called.

She had grand delusions that you wanted to spend the rest of the day at market with her, buying food and supplies. "After you deliver the letter to your father," she had said commandingly, "You will come to the supermarket and help me. I need a bag carrier." Well, gee. Looks like you'd have to wait to get near the shirt today. You quickly hung it on a hanger then placed it carefully on your bedpost. Despite your hurry to leave, you did not want the red shirt getting damaged.

You locked the door quickly, letter in your pocket, then sprinted down the street. The faster you finished the days errands, the sooner you'd finally be able to wear that alluring shirt. In your blind scramble down the sidewalk towards the post office, you crashed face-first into someone's chest. You both went down like boats sinking in the ocean.

"Sorry!" you said, jumping back up. It was Ranma, your friend, who was currently shirtless, parading around town. His state of shirtless-ness was of no surprise to you.

You offered him a hand, and he took it, pulling himself up.

"Where's your shirt, Ranma?" you asked him, just to distract him from your recent mishap.

"Uh… Ryoga and I were having a fight, and I guess I lost it along the way. Have you seen it? I've been looking around, but I can't seem to find it."

"I saw it on the way to the Tendo Dojo. Might wanna check around there." you said quickly. "Anyways, sorry again, I've gotta go."

You headed away quickly. You knew he wouldn't find his shirt. You didn't want him to, in any case. He didn't deserve to, you thought stubbornly. He'd had his chance, but you knew the shirt had been through plenty of abuse.

When you finally got home, you went upstairs and face-planted on your bed. You were exhausted. Your dad, bless his forgetful soul, had actually left _3_ letters at home instead of one. And he remembered each one only after you brought the last one. So, you made three trips home, running back and forth like a lowly messenger. Then, you had shopped for hours with your mother, and she made you carry twelve bags- _12_- home by yourself, on foot, so she could pick up your dad. Your arms felt like limp noodles, and your legs like jelly.

"Sorry red shirt," you apologized, feeling like you had betrayed it. "I'll try you on tomorrow, ok?"

You felt like it had understood and forgiven you for this injustice.

* * *

At dinner, your parents chattered happily. You ate your food quickly and quietly, seeing no reason to join in. The food was good, as always. And the conversation was interesting to listen to, no doubt. But you wanted to touch the shirt again. Being without it for a day reminded you of the strong bond you had already forged with it. When you had finished, you washed your bowl, then excused yourself and went back upstairs.

The shirt sat on its red hanger, lifeless. It was breathtakingly handsome and really, a fashionable shirt to be seen in. You felt too tired to do much more than take it off its hanger and crawl into bed with it in your arms. When earlier, the shirt had been cold to soothe you, now it was warm. It was chilly outside, yet even with the window open, you felt comfortably heated by the red shirt. Burying your nose in the hot red cloth, you fell into a comfortable slumber.

You, unsurprisingly, dreamed about the shirt. In your dream, the shirt could walk and talk, move on its own accord, do everything that people could. In your dream, you and the shirt fell in love and walked off into a tropical sunset while clasping each other in the hand area. It was so romantic, you wished it was real. But even in your subconscious, you knew that the shirt could never do that. A huge, monster wave crashed on you two, sweeping the shirt away into the swirling torrent.

Your chest constricted and your heart caught in your throat. You ran into the ocean, trying to find it. But, no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't find it. In your despair, you sunk to your knees and beat the water, splashing everywhere, as if that'd solve anything.

You awoke with a gasp, panting. What the hell was that?! You brushed against the shirt, and held it to your face. When you parted, you noticed the shirt was wet. You… you'd been crying? Over the shirt?

It seemed crazy to you, but at the same time…. it made so much sense. You'd found something to take your mind off the _monotony_ of life… and the shirt had found someone to love and cherish it.

"I'll never leave you," you muttered into the shirt, half-asleep already as it comforted you. Soon, with the shirt by your side, you fell into an even deeper sleep, with a good dream where you actually had the strength, skill, and speed to beat the _crap_ out of Ranma for leaving the shirt.

* * *

First Ranma 1/2 story ever.

If the reader seems somewhat obsessed, that is there for a reason.

Ranma looks like such a jerk. (HE IS.)

Anyway, please review. I'd love to hear what you have to say!


	2. Donning the Crimson Garment

This is a short chapter, but it is a transition to the next. I can promise you the next one will be chock full of content.

* * *

When you awoke in the morning, you got dressed and headed downstairs to breakfast. You sat at the table quietly, beginning to eat.

Your mother looked expectantly at you. For some reason, she was smiling brightly at you, paying you copious amounts of unwanted attention. You focused on the rice in your bowl, slightly nervous. What did she want now?

"You've been in a very good mood lately," she said, a knowing look in her eyes. "You seemed at ease during dinner last night."

Your father nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, it's good to know you're feeling better!"

"Uh… thanks. Yeah. I've uh, got something to do," you said, getting up and going to wash your dishes.

"Alright! Have fun! Your father and I will be going to work soon." your mother chirped as you left up the stairs in a rush.

"I think she's feeling better today." your mother said, now you were gone, to your father.

"I'm glad our daughter is finally back to her old self, or at least getting close." he replied, finishing his rice.

You closed the door behind your back as you walked into your room. Even though you knew your parents would be gone, you locked it as well. Just to be safe.

The red shirt lay on your bed, unwrinkled, despite how you clutched it that night.

You knew you'd already given it a quick looking over when you picked it up off the street, but you wanted to take your time as you examined it this time. Sitting on the ground, you took it in your arms, you peered at it silently. It had nearly invisible marks of the abuse Ranma had no doubt put it through. There were burnt areas, discolored parts of fabric, and sewn up areas where you guessed Kasumi had mended it. This was the shirts' history. It had been through so much, kept on going for so long.

Sighing, you ran a hand over it. It was really beautiful. You had never owned something so nice.

You laughed wryly. One man's trash is another man's treasure. You stopped abruptly. For some reason, you didn't like thinking of the shirt as Ranma's trash. That really wasn't doing it justice, was it? You knew, deep inside, that he probably had just happened to drop it, or he didn't mean to leave it and probably wanted it back. But the ugly truth was:

You didn't want to give it to him. You had an unconscious feeling of ownership that you enjoyed.

You disregarded any notions of returning the shirt. Standing, you unbuttoned the shirt clasps. Then you set it on your bed as you took off your current shirt.

Time to try it on.

You had doubts. What if it didn't fit? What if it was unflattering? You weren't skinny, you weren't really big. You had curves for sure, and this was a man's shirt.

Taking a deep breath, you put your arms through the sleeves, then buttoned it up.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you gasped in surprise.

This shirt clung to you, but not so much to be tight. It accentuated all the best parts of you, and toned down the not-as-good ones. It was a brilliant scarlet that suited you somehow. You were given the impression that this shirt would fit itself to any body type, suit anybody's features, could flatter literally anyone.

This was such a magical shirt. You felt so lucky to have it.

In just a few short days, it had become a serious staple of your wardrobe. But you could not be happy just yet. You had to tell Ranma about it. He had to know that this shirt belonged to you now.

You sighed as you sat on your bed. "What'll I do? Do I just tell him, or do I offer to give it back?" It was a difficult decision. "I don't know what to do."

Finally, you had an idea. It was perfect.

* * *

Thank you to all viewers and reviewers! I hope you read on.


	3. It's Mine Now

Stuff happens. I will never own Ranma. *CRIES*

* * *

You donned the shirt in the morning, then walked towards the Tendo Dojo with conviction. As much as you didn't want to, you had to notify Ranma that you had claimed the shirt as your own. You hoped he wouldn't try to take it back by force.

Down the street you walked.

"Hey! Ranma! We can continue that fight from earlier now that you found your shirt!" shouted a familiar voice from behind you.

You turned. "Oh, hello Ryoga!"

His jaw dropped and you swore you saw a look of flustered admiration on his face. "Uh, hi. Sorry. Thought you were Ranma…"

You smiled. "No problem."

"Uh," Ryoga blushed profusely. "T-that sh-sh-shirt looks g-great on y-y-you."

"Thanks! I'm going to talk to Ranma about something. Want to come along?"

"Uh, no th-thanks."

"Alright. See you around Ryoga!" You walked forward again. You had supposed he would want to see Akane at least, but he surprised you. You wondered what was wrong with the lost boy.

* * *

When you came to the doors of the Tendo Dojo, you took a deep breath. It was going to be scary, but you had to be brave. For the shirt.

You were this close to knocking on the door, but you heard a crash and some shouts of,

"Gee, I didn't do anything! Calm down before you kill somebody!"

You guessed that Ranma and Akane were fighting again. With a sigh, you opened the door. You were right.

Akane was currently chasing Ranma around, obviously trying to murder him with the magical-mallet-that-appeared-from-thin-air. Kasumi looked like she was in the middle of cleaning.

"Oh, hello," she greeted you kindly, with the perpetual smile on her face. "Isn't that-"

"Yeah. I kinda took it. I came here to tell him it was mine."

"Ah." she said with a small nod. "I did quite some mending on that one. Does it fit well?"

"Yeah. Best shirt I ever had actually. Thanks for mending it."

"You're welcome." she returned to her diligent work. You were hit with a gruesome thought: Ranma's blood could be on these walls. You shuddered. You hoped Akane had never hurt him bad enough for that. But enough of that. It was time to get serious.

You put on your game face, then strode outside, where Ranma had found refuge in a tree. Sunglasses, you thought with a silly inward grin, would make this scene epic. You were walking into a war zone (as you supposed any quarrel between the two lovers eventually turned into), so you might as well add some shades to make yourself look mysterious and cool, the stranger come to divert their attention from fighting and make them focus on a much bigger problem.

Akane's mallet disappeared from view. You supposed it had returned to the void from which it came. Ranma slowly climbed down the tree. He wasn't deliberately slow, just tentative. If he heard or saw danger, he'd run like a squirrel right back up that tree.

Once he made it down, the first words that exited his mouth were- "Hey! That's my shirt!"

You knew he wasn't angry. He was just really surprised.

"Not anymore," you corrected him softly.

"Hey-" Akane tugged him back into the house.

You were left out there to wait for the verdict: Guilty, or not guilty?

* * *

_SMACK!_

Akane had hit Ranma with the mallet again.

"YOW!" shouted Ranma. "Whatcha do that for? I was just gonna ask her why she took it!"

Akane let out a long-suffering, frustrated sigh. "Can you not even see it?"

"See what?"

"Look out there!" she pointed. You sat on the grass, seemingly talking to yourself. But, if nobody talked, they could hear you saying, "I hope Ranma lets me keep you, red shirt" every once in a while.

"Do you understand now?"

"Understand what?"

Akane raised the mallet menacingly.

_POW!_

"OWCH!" Ranma rubbed his head. "Geez, tomboy. Why you gotta hit so hard?"

Akane gritted her teeth and nearly hit him again. "Tell me why she took the shirt, from what you saw out there."

He scoffed. "How'm I s'posed to know?"

_CRACK!_

"OW! OK, OK! Uh… she likes it, right?"

Akane sighed. "Yes, you moron! She's the happiest she's been in a long time. And you have tons of other shirts just like that one, so don't tell me it's special."

"Alright, alright… Whaddaya want me to say to her?"

"I don't know! It's your problem, not mine!"

"Gee," Ranma scratched his head absently. "From the way you were acting, I mighta thought ya cared."

She shoved him outside without another word.

"Uh…" Ranma started uncertainly. "Ya know… you can keep the shirt. I got tons of others just like it. So don't worry about givin' it back or anything."

You felt so happy. "Thank you, Ranma!" you hugged him in a vise-like grip. "I'll take good care of him, I promise!" You ran off, joyous and ready to celebrate. The shirt was yours, now and forever!

" 'Him'?" Ranma asked out loud.

* * *

For a long time, the days blended together in happiness. You had the shirt. You were happy. Almost every day, you wore that shirt. When school started again, you wore it every chance you had. Whatever rumors followed, you didn't care. For some reason, your life was worth living because you had something you cared so much about.

Glowing with self-confidence and bursting with excitement, you went through each day. Nothing could bring you down.

But it couldn't last. You knew it couldn't.

* * *

I'm sorry, it has to happen.

You think you'll be the only ones hurt...

I'LL BE ALMOST IN TEARS AS I WRITE IT.

Thank you, reviewers, readers!


	4. What

If I actually owned Ranma 1/2, I would not be writing fanfictions. Rumiko Takahashi owns Ranma. I'm pretty sure she doesn't (write fanfictions).

* * *

You got up one morning and went to go grab the shirt. It wasn't where you left it. Oh well. You were a tiny bit worried, but then remembered that your mother tended to take your clothes and throw them in the washer while you were sleeping.

So, the red shirt was probably being cleaned.

You put on a different one and headed off to school. Your day was uneventful. Nothing exciting happened to you, so…. Might as well go home.

On your way back, you got some okonomiyaki from Ucchan's, on the house! You talked to Ukyo a bit about your life and how happy you were. She noticed you weren't wearing the shirt.

"Oh, Mom's probably washing it," you said, unworried. "I'll just wear it tomorrow."

Ukyo smiled, and packed up some food to go.

"See you later, Ukyo!" you waved, grinning as you left.

When you finally returned home (after redirecting poor Ryoga three times), the shirt was not hung up with the rest of your clothes in your bedroom.

"Hey Mom," you shouted down the staircase, slightly upset now. "Do you know where my red shirt is?"

"No honey, I don't!" was her reply. "Do you remember where you last left it?"

"It was in my room, but now it's gone!"

"Don't worry, sweetie, it'll turn up sooner or later!"

"I hope so. Thanks anyways!" You went into your room and slammed the door.

Oh God. You thought you had the shirt for yourself now. But…. It was gone.

You tore apart your closet, under your bed, and the rest of your room looking for it. You ransacked the entire house, searching desperately for it.

You sank to your knees in the bathroom. Oh God, oh no, oh heck no, oh why me, you thought. Oh Jesus, oh man, oh God, OH NO.

Your thoughts didn't make sense any more.

Maybe it ran away?

Maybe it turned into something else?

Maybe… Someone stole it?

Maybe something ate it?

Maybe maybe maybe maybe?

Huh?

You began to cry. Running upstairs, you buried your face in your pillow, sobbing.

Where was the shirt now, huh? Where was it when you needed it most?

Remembering how it soaked up your tears so well did _not_ make you feel any better.

Pillows had terrible absorbency.

* * *

Life became a colorless mix of hours forming into days into a week… or was it two weeks? Maybe three. Or four. Hell if you knew.

Your grades were slipping. Class life was just so… boring.

Your friends didn't know what to do with you. They knew you were easily depressed or fell into ruts often, but nothing this serious ever happened.

You were having problems with yourself.

Nightmares plagued your sleep. Red shirt. Red shirt being ripped, torn, drowned, cut, stolen, killed.

You hated being so dependent on an article of clothing, for Gods' sakes. It was a _shirt_. _A SHIRT_.

But here you were, acting like your parents died or something.

They couldn't cheer you up either.

* * *

"Maybe if you go to the place where you found the shirt, honey, you'll get a clue?" your mom asked, a last ditch attempt at making you motivated to continue life as they had known it.

"Yes!" your dad agreed. "You should go!"

"Ugh…. Ok." you groaned. You had a terrible headache that had temporarily paralyzed you in bed this morning.

You said a half-hearted 'thanks for the meal' and went out.

The street side where you had found the shirt.

You weren't there, but you could already tell you wouldn't find anything. But your parents wanted you to make one last effort. So you would.

You sighed, closing your eyes and shaking your head as you approached the spot.

You opened your eyes. Holy Moley.

What in the name of…

* * *

A man sat in the gutter, rubbing his head.

He looked up at you questioningly. "Hello."

"Uh… hi. Who are you? And why are you lying in the gutter, don't you know it's dangerous?"

You put out a hand. He took it, uncertainly, and you pulled him up.

"I'm not sure if I have a name…. And I don't know how I ended up there…"

"Do you have amnesia or something?"

"No… I don't think so. I remember my life pretty well-" he broke off his sentence to stare at you intently.

He did it for several minutes. His intense gaze was making you really nervous. It was warm, searing you.

"Uh…."

"I see." he smiled warmly. "It is you."

"Wait, hold the phone. What do you mean by that?!"

"You saved me!"

"From what? Lying in the gutter?" you were puzzled. You didn't remember saving anyone.

"You don't remember me? I didn't think I was gone for that long!" his face drooped in disappointment.

"Who are you?!" you repeated.

"I'm the red shirt!"

"Wha?"

"I was the red shirt! You saved me from Ranma. Then, after a while, my master turned me into a person. He told me to live among humans and learn from them. I already learned quite a lot though."

"You… Were the red shirt?"

"Yes! I thought I said that already…."

You were unsure whether or not to believe him. He _looked_ believable.

You took a chance to really scrutinize him. Tall, with wild red hair and brilliant orange-gold eyes. Like warm honey, or molten amber. He was tan.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

"I don't have a home, no. And I doubt Ranma would take me back, anyways."

You thought for a moment. "Do you wanna come back and live with me?"

He smiled childishly. "Yes, I'd love to resume living with you! I missed you a lot when I was away."

You felt your cheeks warm and knew you were turning a bit pink.

"A-ah, ok. But, a-are you sure you don't have a na-name?"

"Yeah. Could you give me one?"

You thought for a little while. Bam, the perfect name hit you like lightning!

"Akashatsu!"

_Red shirt. _He was the closest you had to that article of clothing. Maybe he actually was. The only difference was… He was a living, breathing, human being, instead of a piece of clothing that hugged you so fetchingly. Maybe… he could hug you the same way?

OH GOD. You shook your head roughly. What the hell were you thinking of? Bad you, bad!

What was that even.

You decided not to continue thinking about it.

"Alright, you can live with me now." Your parents would have to be convinced. Dad would be easy. Mom… maybe not so much, but she'd love for you to be happy.

"Yay!" he grinned again, showing perfect pearly whites.

That is, if he didn't kill you first with how blatantly attractive he was.

* * *

You took him home. You talked to your parents while he was there. After some hours of negotiation, they agreed to let him stay in one of the guest rooms. Your mother and father were a little miffed about having a huge, handsome teenage boy living with them, but they eventually gave in, knowing it'd make you happy again.

You led him into his new room. "Here you go, Akashatsu."

"Thank you." he glanced around, getting a feel for it, you assumed.

Your father had graciously provided him with clothes. Your mother had prepared the room wonderfully.

"Good night." you said.

"Good night," he replied. "See you tomorrow."

You crawled into bed, at peace. You had a dream, just like the one you had on the first night of owning the shirt.

But, the shirt was no longer part of it. Instead, it had been replaced by Akashatsu.

* * *

BAM, plot twist!

I bet you didn't expect the shirt to be a dude. I'm sure you didn't.

If you did... You're a wizard!

All people, wizard or not, please read and review. Any input or feedback is greatly appreciated.


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